


All These Thoughts

by CleanFootApplesauce



Category: Original Work
Genre: 20 Random Facts, Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Held Down, Hopeful Ending, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, KEEP READING, Losing, Moving On, Muggle Life, Muggles, Other, Pain, Random & Short, Randomness, Rants, Real Life, Smile, Triggers, all of this crap, hello world, insercurities, just come and try it, kept inside, lost in my thoughts, moving on with life, possible triggers, so many have my name, thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-03-28 18:13:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3864778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CleanFootApplesauce/pseuds/CleanFootApplesauce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So much is always held inside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Begin

_I just want to be seen, actually seen. everyone always looks at me and assumes that I'm some perfect little goodie-two-shoes, no way, not even close. They can't see the inside, they have no idea._


	2. Undeserving and Unworthy

It may be hard to understand, for anyone other than myself. I don't know, in this world of computers and technology it's a wonder that people still even have feeling. *shrugs* I guess it's only me, so much is hidden inside. 

I'm pretty sure we've all been through rough times in life, for an example I went through almost two years of being raped and molested during my childhood. I guess that's among one of the reasons why I feel so undeserving of any care/love that people give me. Why I feel so unworthy of anyone wanting to be there for me. I've always been there for myself, I don't ask people to comfort me or hold me close and let me at least pretend that things are okay. With growing up as I have I grew independent at a young age, and I have trust issues, but that's a pretty no shit kind of thing-of course someone who goes through that would become distrustful of other people. How could anyone love me? After becoming so tarnished? I have no idea, I guess they see something that I don't. It leaves me so confused though. I want to give them all of these reasons why to not care, why they should just basically ignore my existence. I would notice, but it wouldn't bother me a great deal. I'm use to being alone, that's why I don't ask anything of others, why I'm so "reserved" as people tell say I am.

Anxiety flares a bit when people get/do things for me or spend their money on me. They've earned their money, they spent their time working to get it. I don't know how to handle it. All I can see is them wasting what they've earned on someone who doesn't deserve anything.  

Never do I expect people to stand up for me. When people do though I just want to pull them away and ask them not to, I can take the pain or whatever-I'm use to it after all. I'll always be there for the people that matter to me, I'll stand up and stand beside them-this is a piece of who I am. But when people do that for me, I just don't know what to do. I feel undeserving of anyone, unworthy of people caring. I know they mean good, I know they are only doing what I would do for them, but I've always been so alone, taking care of myself. It's so hard to let others stand up for me, because after so long of being the only one to stand up for myself I don't really know how to let them. I can take the mean words and harsh hits, I don't want others taking them for me. In my own mind I deserve whatever I get, good or bad-but mainly bad, other people deserve good things more than I. 

\-----------------

Basically the only way past that is when someone does it without me knowing at all, so a surprise. Without asking me, since if they know me well enough it shouldn't be such a hardship to figure out what I like/dislike. Or they can try to be all sneaky and just ask a question or two without coming out with things and figure things out that way. Asking me outright what I want and all doesn't work for me- i just ask for things that I need. I rarely if ever ask for things I want or would like to have. It's just not who I am.  


	3. Before I Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst

I lay in bed, on my back, my arms stretched above my head as I try to work out the kinks in my back and legs so I can at least be a bit comfortable. My feet stick off of the bottom of my bed by at least half a foot. In no way do I see myself as tall, yeah compared to most people, I stand at 5'8" barefoot, so I guess a slightly above average height. The ceiling fan whirs softly in the background, I've already made sure that my curtains are properly closed, no moonlight disturbs my darkness. I need this, it's in no way as quite as I need it, but if I focus on the fans sounds I can at least ignore most of the sounds that would take away the silence I need to sleep.

For a few moments I wonder what it'd be like to be safe, huddled against someone I feel safe with and trust. I just shake my head and let out a sigh. I don't see a point in dreaming of such a luxury, but the hope is still there, always there. Tears prick the back of my eyes so I clench my jaw and press my fists against my eyes, fighting away the tears that could so easily fall. _I don't want to cry. I don't want to cry. Please._ A drawn out, frustrated sigh escapes me, but the tears don't fall. _Thank you._ Another deep breath, just to prove I can without crying. The small battles are just as important.

Then comes the thoughts. In an attempt to set up a decent dream, something to comfort me to help me sleep calmly.

_It's been a few years, we've finally been able to set up a time that'd work to see each other. It's been forever, or at least it feels like it. I feel like my heart is going to explode in my chest, he has to be able to see it beating under my shirt. I  can't hold in the smile that comes to my face, it's been so long. We walk up to each other, he opens his arms how he use to, giving me the choice to hug him, to make the move. He always has, he knows how I am with touching. My heart swells just a little more, tears prick  the back of my eyes and I swear I'm about to cry-happy tears, always happy tears. I step into his arms and hug him tight, "I've missed you, I've missed you so much."  His mouth brushes the top of my head, "You've grown." I tease, last time we've seen each other he was two inches shorter than myself. I only hug him tighter, breathing in that all familiar scent of him, what I swear I've woken up to in those years apart. Woken up to and shaken my head with longing and frustration, how the hell could I smell him, he's never even been inside of my room-no matter how much I wanted to show him it, not for sexual reasons, just to share my comfort zone, to not be alone where I usually am. "I have someone I'd like for you to meet."  First thoughts go to a dog, he knows how much I love dogs and I try to hold in a hopeful smile. He moves out of my embrace and steps to the side. I look down towards ground level, hopeful-expectant. But nothing is there, confused I look up at him, he gives me a small smile and points towards the opening of a coffee shop. I give him a confused look, "What?"  He just smiles and hold up a finger, then she walks out of the shop. My smile freezes on my mouth, no, oh god no. My heart stops, no, please, no._

_She walks up to him and wraps her arms around his waist, "Is this her?" I can feel my hands begin to shake, no, please..._

_He nods, "Yeah, this is my good friend that I've been telling you about."  You can't be doing this, please, you can't. I clench my jaw feeling the tears gathering. How can he be so cruel? "I'm sure she'll be able to help you settle in." He tells her, it's like I'm not even there. She smiles at him and his face lights up. No, please, no...His face breaks out into that killer smile he's always had, and my heart deflates a lot more. Someone else, someone else, someone else. Finally he looks at me, like he's just realized I was standing there, "You'll help her, right?"_

_I_ _force a smile to my mouth, "Yes, no problem."  He knew I already would, fuck, I'm so stupid to think he'd want me. So fucking stupid. He gives me a smile then goes to get their luggage, I stand and wait with her._

_"_ _He's so amazing, you have no idea." she tells me, like I don't know, like I don't fucking know._

_"Yes, he is."  He returns, baggage in his hands, a backpack slung over his shoulder, of course the backpack is his and all the other shit is hers. I clench my jaw again, why, why is he being so cruel? We get into my car and drive, we arrive at my place. "You can have the guest bedroom, she can bunk in mine." I tell him, he nods, but his attention is all on her. I feel my heart crack. Please...no. Her and I walk to my room after I show him the guest, "This is my room, the bathroom connects to it here," I show her it then make a wide gesture, "as you can see I like things tidy so try not to make to much of a mess, please."  She just shrugs and drops down her luggage on the floor, I take that as a dismissive and go in search of him._

_He's laying out on the guest bed, his eyes half-closed, looking so sweet and beautiful. A small smile makes it onto my lips without a thought. I don't want to talk, so I just go and sit on the edge of the bed, it catches his notice, "I knew she'd let you stay in her room." I say nothing and press my lips together, why? Oh why? "She's always been so nice, always so nice to people, I've never met anyone nicer." I can feel the tears threatening to spill, my jaw clenches and I swallow hard. Why?_

_"Do you love her?"  My voice catches him off guard and he springs up in bed, surprised that it's me. I know the moment he closes himself off from me. "I'm sorry, but I want to know."_

_He shrugs and looks away before running a hand through his hair, "I'm sorry..."  I push off the bed, I can't take it, I can't take it. "Let me explain." I shake my head, finally the tears come._

_"You don't need to, I already understand. No, I won't kick you out of my place. I'm too 'nice' to do that."_

_He shakes his head and stands, "Don't cry , please."_

_I back away, heading for the room door, "It doesn't matter, it doesn't fucking matter anymore. I just hope you're happy, that's all I've ever wanted for you."_

I turn to my side and curl into a partial ball, damnit, why? Why does it always turn bad? why does it always end up like this? I lose, I lose every time, every fucking time. I just want to be cared about, I'm not, I'm not. I know. Is it so hard? So hard to care about me? I just want a little bit, I'll take the scraps if that's all I'm worth. It's okay. I just-i just would really want to be cared for. Please...?Is it really so much for me to ask for. Just once, just once. I won't ask for more than than that. I won't ask for more than what I'm worth. Even though I'm worth nothing, he can treat me however he'd like, it's okay. At least I'll be getting some sort of reaction from him. _Damnit._

Tears press at the back of my eyes, some have already escaped and slide down my face. I curl up more on myself and bury my face against my blanket. _It hurts so much._

 

 

   


	4. Chapter 4

Growing up I was basically taught how to be the perfect housewife. The homemaker. I was forced to take "Homebuilder" classes, were we learned things from setting a table properly, sewing, knitting, candle making, and other housewife-like tasks/hobbies. It's not a horrible thing knowing all of that stuff, but it did take away a lot of my childhood. The parents paid little attention to me, with four boys it's typical that the one daughter would be overlooked. It's not like I'd be carrying on the family name anyway, so not as important as one of their sons.

I spent up until the 5th grade being homeschooled by my mother, but with my slightly older brother being mentally disabled she gave her attention to him and I was pretty much left to teach myself. I hold nothing against him, he had no choice in the matter, and we all have our flaws. After my lessons were over it was usually right into chores, which was me going around the house and cleaning up every piece of it; dusting, sweeping, washing floors, vacuuming, cleaning windows, cleaning the bathrooms, the two porches, gardening, weeding, doing whatever cooking/baking mom wanted done or help with, washing and drying dishes then putting them away. Anything, any spot of dirt or sprinkle of dust was a big no. If mom saw an imperfection-which she always did no matter how hard I worked, it was starting over and doing things all over again. 

The parents tried to mold me into the perfect trophy wife. Like some medieval maiden who they'd give to the largest bidder. "She can do this, this, this, this, and this, and also theses things, and don't forget that and that, isn't she just perfect? She'll take care of everything, you won't even know she's around." That was basically it. I was the thing they could sell into another family and then they'd reap whatever benefits from it. But I swear it wouldn't even matter, if they got a frog or a cow for me, either way they'd take whatever it was just to get rid of me. Even with all the stuff they forced on me I still began my own person, and they hate that.

I'm so happy that they do. They hate how I'm independent, that I don't turn to them or ask for any help. They hate how I don't tell them everything about me. They hate how they don't know me. I'm so glad they don't. I'm so glad that they don't know me more than my name and barley useful information. I love that they know nothing. They don't know my favorite color(s), or where I feel safe, they don't know the people that matter to me, they don't know how my mind works or where my mind turns, they don't understand why I do what I do, they don't believe what I tell them, they don't know ME.

All that they do is assume.

 _"She must want to go to her room with her friends to do 'bad things'"_ Yeah, because I totally love drugs and am into casual sex-that's totally who I am.

 _"She has one B she must be letting her grades fall because she doesn't care."_ Yeah though, I don't-it's just a fucking number. I get what I put into things. Wow a B. I must be going to Hell.

 _"She doesn't want to go to church, she must hate God."_ I said I feel sick, how is that so hard to believe? Honestly I would go but I don't want to be stuck where I can't do anything to feel better. 

 _"She just said, "Shut up or I'll slit your vocal cords." To her little brother, she must be pmsing"_ NO ONE SHOULD BE TALKING BEFORE 0700 ON A SCHOOL DAY! SHUT UP!

 _"She won't open her door so I can talk to her."_ I'm in my bed, the door is locked, I don't feel like walking those 14 or so feet to go and open the damn door, I can hear you so talk.

 _"She's wearing shorts, she must be dressing for some guy."_ Um, no, it's a fucking toaster outside. I'd rather not die of heat thank you very much. Get that stick out of your ass.

That's seriously how things are. Then they wonder why I want to leave, why I can't wait to leave. Honestly, they have no fucking clue. 

                                                                                                                            

   


	5. Just a Few Words

     I worry a lot, no, it's far more than "a lot" basically every moment of every day I have worries on my mind, and even when I'm doing something else they're still there. All of my worries tend to focus more so on the well-being of those that matter to me, rarely ever a worry about myself. That's why communication matters so much to me, why I  _need_ it. I know with work and other events the people that matter to me are busy and have lives of their own to live. I'm well aware of that fact,but I worry about them and every day that goes without hearing something-anything-from them I worry even more. 

_Has something bad happened?_

_Is he/she hurt?_

_Did he/she die?_

It doesn't help that almost all of the people that matter to me are in some sort of military position, they're literally all over the world. There's nothing that I can do to protect them in this civilian life, so that's honestly a part of why I also have enlisted. 

    Back to the communication topic though-it really is something that I have to have to run my life properly. I need to know that they're safe or else it's really difficult to concentrate on whatever I'm doing. It never has to be something long or drawn out, they could just say a word or two to me and I'd be okay. I'd know that they're safe. Even with work it's not something impossible to do, just drop a line and say, "Hey." Or something like that, just so I  _know._

    It probably sounds like I'm keeping tabs and am obsessive, I don't know, that comes to mind to me at least. I know that I'm not though. The people that matter to me have always come before myself in my life. Whenever they need someone to talk to I'll drop what I'm doing so that they have that, when they need help I lend a hand, when they're feeling down I try my damndest to bring back up their spirits, and when they're going through rough times I'm always there for them. To me it doesn't matter if I need sleep, food, am cold/too hot, or anything-my needs are the last thing on my mind. I will give up my time for them. It's just who I am, again, just another thing that makes me, me.   

   When I know before hand that they'll be busy on certain days I don't worry about not hearing from them, because I know that they're busy and will get back to me when they can-but when I don't know, when I'm left in the dark all my worry for them tends to go to the extreme. Those thoughts above, yeah and worse. There's only one thing that helps though, but I have to wait days and days without nothing until I get any answers. Even then...


	6. Anxiety

     It bubbles inside like the fizz that races to reach the opening cap of a soda bottle, beats against my ribcage and chest, vibrates against the back of my neck and front of my throat. It tightens the skin at the bottom of my ears like the moment you try to unravel fabric from a zipper. Slowly it constricts my lungs making my lower ribs feel like they're covered in bruises. It has no name, perhaps the weak dragon that only rumbles from its slumber when bothered, or the sloth that only moves out of the tree when he has no other choice.

    Seems that it knows all the wrong times to show up, to rear its ugly head and seize control over a decent amount of my senses. It tightens my skin, suffocating me in my own body. Air is like a commodity during those moments, lucky for the smallest gasps of air that make their way into my lungs. Sight turns into its own twisted version of tunnel vision, or it decides to blur like a camera lens that is unfocused. I brace my hands against something I know to be solid and steady at those points of time, waiting however long I must until I can once again see. On the rare occasions that make me feel the weakest and greatest self-hate is when I lose the ability to move properly. Twice in my life they've been so bad that I lost the ability to use my legs, fell down to the floor. That feeling of such weakness, such vulnerability brought frustrated tears to my eyes merely added to the burden I hold-have always held, all the damn weaknesses of my own body. Sounds seem to be drowned out by my own soft pants of air, my own search of oxygen as I try to push away the anxiety-to bring back the control I need. All of my touch sensors feel like they're going off a thousand times more-bringing hundreds among hundreds of new information to my brain and overloading everything else. Thought dwindles down to what is causing the anxiety, forcing it to the front of my mind while I try so hard to push it away. 

Repeating.

Repeating

Repeating.

Repeating.

Repeating.

Repeating.

Repeating.

Repeating.

Repeating.

Repeating.

Repeating.

Repeating.

    Heart pounding, hands shaking.

Repeating.

Repeating.

Repeating.

    Lungs gasping, body trembling.

Repeating.

Repeating.

Repeating.

Repeating.

Repeating.

Repeating.

Repeating.

    Jaw clenching, eyes closing.

Repeating.

Repeating.

Repeating.

Repeating.

  Eyes opening, hands tightening.

Repeating.

Repeating.

Repeating.

Repeating.

Repeating.

Repeating.

Repeating.

    Hands shaking, lungs searching.

 

 

 

 

 _Air._ _I need air._

_Calm down! Just calm down._

_Easier said then done._

_Breathe. Just relax and breathe._

_I can't! I just can't! doesn't work-doesn't work-doesn't work._

_Air. Need air._

_Doesn't work._

_Breathe. Shhh. Just breathe. It's okay._

_NO! No-it's not-it's never-it just-it isn't even close._

_Calm._ _Calm. Shh._

_NO!_ _It doesn't work like that-I can't just be-_

_Calm._

_Center yourself._

_Air-please-I need-_

_Calm. Where are you?_

_I don't-i don't know._

_Shh. Breathe.  Where are you?_

_I don't know-I don't-_

_Where are you?_

_I-_

_Breathe. Where are you?_

_I'm-I'm on the bus._

_Okay. That's a start. Specify._

_I'm-_

_Shh. Breathe. Okay? Deep breath._

_Okay. I'm on the bus. Seat #4._

_Good. Where is the bus heading?_

_School. I'm going to school._

_Yes. What is happening?_

_On the bus?_

_Yes, on the bus._

_The girl in front of me is playing her music too loud, it's shitty music to-I can hear it-she's going to lose her hearing soon like that-too close to her eardrums._

_What else?_

_The girl in the seat across from me is looking out the window. The girls sitting in front of her are busy talking about tattoos and sex-fucking sad to see girls in their early teens doing that, but it's their life to screw up. The bus driver is driving._

_Is that all?_

_I don't know._

_Yes, you do._

_The people in the back are loud, swearing every other word, it's rather annoying so early in the morning._

_Is that the problem?_

_No._

_Tell me._

_I can't do anything right.  I try so hard to do things properly, but fail in the end-even when I do accomplish something it means nothing in my own eyes and it just isn't good enough. I've shed blood, sweat and tears for people-they don't even understand that-what it truly means from me. I deny it for myself, I deny myself people getting close to me-always make some kind of fucked up barrier.... just to belong to myself...? I don't even know. I'd take all the pain I can possibly from those that do matter to me-but it'll never be enough. I don't feel like I'll ever be enough. Like I'll never have even the slightest importance to someone. I disgust myself by wanting people close, by wanting to mean something or have someone care about me-but I think the disgust comes more from me not already being that way-that I close myself up and don't let myself open to a whole lot of people. I try to-I try so damned hard-but then I go over all that I've done in my head later-and more likely than not just overthink about it and get disgusted and scared that I fucked things up once more. I'm always so fucking scared to screw things up-I know it doesn't look that way, yeah, I hide it pretty well-it's under all the forced smiles and put on overconfidence. I can't smile at myself in the mirror, haven't seen something I've liked in a long time. Some days I manage a smile-a very small one-but it falls quicker than someone jumping from a building. I'm horrible to myself but I don't know how to not be, when I stumble I laugh at myself-at my own stupidity and weaknesses._

_It's okay._

_No. No, it's not. We both know that._

_Yes. Better?_

_A little, just a little. It's better for now. It'll be back later to grab at me though._

_I know._

_Yeah. But it's time to suppress._

_At school already?_

_Mhm. Just pulled in. Until later I guess, when I have the time and no one around to witness my inner turmoil._

_Until then._

_Breathe. Calm. Control. Suppress. Smile._

 

 


	7. Poison

   I found a nice little poison, small and deadly;something that can't be survived. It took a mere five minutes to know all that was needed about it,  _five minutes._ The internet holds so much information...and in the wrong hands, lets just say it can all be deadly. Like one would when they're talking about a person (at least for the most part) I won't release the name of said poison. Just for some fact to keep others in some semblance of safety. It's amusing, I know-at least in my own mind; talking about poison and such yet trying to hold onto safety. It's ironic.

    The thoughts have run through my head a few times, and with the purchase of that it would be horribly easy to do so. There's only one person who'd go down. But what's the point-when I could end up in serious trouble and in jail. *shrugs* That person is just going to continue to live their miserable, pathetic life-and in a few more years be dead. Inside I hope it's not natural, not something painless and quick; after all they deserve none of that. They don't deserve to die in their sleep, something calm and gentle-I'd rather they be forced to endure some of the most painful and horrifying things possible.

    A slow agonizing disembowelment while being fully conscious and aware of it-watching as you're organs are pulled out one by one-as your skin gets cut into and mutilated. All the blood and your life just weeping from you pathetic human body.

    It gets better. All the weak and main joints of your body being broken and misplaced by blunt force and heavy tools. A pickaxe being slammed through the small fragile joints of your feet-one by one. Small hand saws being used to rip apart the bones and fingers of your hands. Your spine being taken out one joint by another-slowly so that you can feel each bone leave.

    Doesn't end yet. Having yourself be unwrapped. Completely skinned to the muscle. Then let alone as it slowly grows back, just to have the process begin anew.

 

 

    These aren't even as dark as they may same. It's still rather tame and polite compared to what it could actually be.       


End file.
